


The Capgras Delusion

by skarletfyre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Confusion, M/M, Manipulation, More tags to be added, Rough Sex, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4183671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How could it have taken so long to notice? How similar can two things be before it no longer matters whether or not they're the same?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Capgras Delusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leeroic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeroic/gifts).



> i haven't been able to write anything in a while, much less just straight up smut. so i thought this would be a good exercise.
> 
> in predictable fashion, i got carried away.
> 
> a gift for the lovely and talented [leeroic](http://leeroic.tumblr.com)/[koshipatrick](http://koshipatrick.tumblr.com) who has been so kind and done so much, and for whom i hope this will count as some form of repayment and encouragement!!

It was no secret that there was something eerie about the similarities between RED team and BLU.

The Heavies were large Russian men, the Demos were Black and Scottish, the Engineers were from the Southern United States. There were noticeable physical similarities – enough to be unnerving if one thought about it too much – but concerns had only been voiced in passing. Perhaps it was intentional? After all, the layout of their bases of operation were nearly identical as well, as were their uniforms, regardless of the fact it would have made more sense for each team to have their own unique appearance if only to make it easier to tell them all apart from a distance. Perhaps their employers had a fascination with symmetry. An odd quirk, but nothing stranger than the things they did on a daily basis.

The RED Spy tried not to think too much about the similarities he shared with his counterpart. It could have all been a coincidence. He was of average height and build, and the fact they shared the same language meant very little. France had no shortage of dashing rogues. But he took comfort in the fact that they smoked different brands of cigarettes.

And smoking was exactly what he was doing on this quiet, rainy evening, well away from the others for fear they might ask him for a cigarette. He was running low. The supply shipments were unpredictable at best, but they were already almost a week overdue. It had come to canned meals every night, dehydrated soup mixes and powdered eggs. There was a single bar of soap left in the showers and a dwindling, rationed supply of toilet paper. These bitter sticks of tar were his only comfort in this miserable time and he wasn't going to part with a single one of them without a fight.

No one would follow him out here. Not in this weather, even if they noticed or cared that he was missing from the evening's “festivities.” Getting drunk and screaming at each other did not appeal to him. If there was a fight while he was gone he would regret missing it, but someone would surely fill him on the details later. But the day's loss had not been bad enough to warrant fisticuffs, he thought.

The central control point that had given them so much trouble was in sight now, just ahead of him, sitting empty and quiet in the off hours. The bloodstains had disappeared, as had the bullet holes and scorch marks and chunks of gore, just as they miraculously did at the end of every round. He'd stopped wondering why. He'd stopped wondering a lot of things lately.

The Spy stopped in the middle of the control point and stared down at it, frowning. Everything was powered down now. No red light began to glow under his feet. No shrill voice shrieked over the loudspeakers, announcing his every move and ruining his moment of sneak attack. It was just quiet.

Except it wasn't.

Spy went very still, listening. He'd heard something. A voice, perhaps, but that should have been impossible. All of his team was back in the mess hall making asses of themselves, and none of them shared his habit of sneaking out after dark to enjoy the silence.

Maybe it was someone from BLU. But what would they be doing out here? Surely they'd be back in their own base, celebrating their victory of the day.

He held his breath, tilting his head from side to side and waiting to hear it again. Waiting to hear anything.

It could have been a bird. Or an animal of some sort, scurrying out of their den now that the shooting and shouting had stopped. Maybe-

There it was again, to his right. Definitely a voice and close by.

Spy hit his cloak and crept in the direction of the sound.

There were many smaller outbuildings set around the yard, most of them boarded up or securely locked. He figured the sound must have come from one of them. Had someone managed to get in one? Was one of the BLUs sneaking around, trying to find better positions for later battles? While there was nothing in the thick, sternly worded “rules of conduct” book they'd been given about scoping the grounds out of battle, it was something he'd never been bold enough to try. The fine print was _very_ fine, after all. No fort had been so difficult to navigate that he was willing to risk his paycheck – or his life – trying to plan a better strategy on it.

He paused to let his cloak recharge, taking another moment to listen. The sound was louder now, still infrequent. He hadn't heard anything in over a minute. He was just starting to second guess himself when there was a muffled thud, like something hard hitting wood. Spy looked up.

There was a watch building of sorts in the shadow of the crane, almost right above his head. That was where the sound had come from. The shuffle of footsteps that followed it confirmed. There was someone in there.

Spy checked his cloak again, then began looking for a way up.

He bet it was the BLU Sniper. The man had the exceedingly annoying habit of dragging himself into the highest, hardest to reach places he could find and taking out members of the opposing team one at a time with well placed, unobstructed shots. It was very effective, and Spy hated him for it. Perhaps this would be his moment of retaliation for all the times he'd been shot in the head the past couple weeks. He couldn't give the bushman a taste of his own medicine during off hours, of course – the rulebook was _very_ clear on that front – but he could at the very least let him know he wasn't as safe as he thought he was.

The Spy silently climbed the crates that sat beneath the building, and then the fence that blocked the abandoned train tracks. His shoes were not meant for climbing, but they didn't fail him as he hauled himself soundlessly to the top of the gate, right beneath the pair of small windows in the side of the building. He checked his cloak once more, a cautious habit learned from experience, before raising himself to peer between the boards.

The first thing he saw was the colour blue, which was enough to give him a rush of satisfaction as his suspicions were confirmed.

And then he saw the colour red, and the familiar off-white of a lab coat, and all of his theories were shattered.

It took Spy a moment to comprehend what exactly he was seeing. It was not the Sniper. It was not any Sniper. It was the RED Medic, pushed back against the wall by the BLU Medic with his tie undone, his vest open, and his gloves off. His head was tilted back, eyes closed and mouth open, making small little sounds that Spy had never, ever expected to hear coming from the straightlaced German.

He ducked back down and blinked hard, several times.

His eyes were playing tricks on him. They must be. Fraternization between teams was not only frowned upon but expressly prohibited, and for the two of them to-

An unmistakable moan slipped through the cracks of the window and Spy risked another look. The BLU Medic had his gloves off as well now. One of his hands was down the front of the RED Medic's – his _colleague's,_ Spy reminded himself – pants, encouraging the noticeable bulge it found there. The men grinned at each other, twin smiles of bright, immaculate teeth. Spy swallowed and ducked down again.

He knew the face of the RED Medic and knew it well. He'd seen it every day for the last ten months, and seen it up close and personal as it hovered over him on the operating table. He was less familiar with the Medic of the opposite team. But the curl of their lips, and the edges of their jaws were far too similar to ignore no matter how much nobody wanted to talk about it. It was worse seeing it up close, right next to each other.

Rustling fabric and another, louder moan had him sticking up again, staring wide eyed at the scene within.

The RED Medic's coat had been pushed or pulled from his shoulders, slouched in a heap at his feet now while he ground shamelessly into the palm down his trousers, his own hand gripping the front of his counterpart's shirt and pulling at the buttons with practiced ease. The BLU Medic was tugging at his own belt, swearing softly to himself. Even their voices were similar. Everyone knew the fear of being wounded on the field and following the sound of the Medic's high laugh, only to round the corner and come face to face with the wrong doctor. But rarely were they heard together, voices twining together as they did now with no other sounds to drown them out.

“ _Beeile dich,”_ the RED Medic huffed, reaching out to help with the belt.

The BLU Medic mumbled something and waved his hand away, freeing up his other hand as well to work at the tricky strip of leather. The RED took the moment of relief to pull off his own tie and vest, tossing them irreverently across the room. From a man who maintained a meticulous laundry schedule, this was surprising. He pulled his own starched shirt over his head without even unbuttoning it first and stepped forward, grabbing the waistband of the other man's pants and pulling them together.

 _They've done this before,_ Spy realized, watching the effortless, organized way they slotted themselves together. No tangle of arms, no bumping of noses or clicking of teeth as they kissed. This was practiced. This was familiar.

They moved in tandem, pressing their bodies together and moving, working any angle of friction they could find. Hands roamed bodies and ran through close-cropped hair, winding and groping and squeezing as they moaned and gasped. The Spy swallowed again, mesmerized by the way they undulated seamlessly against one another, too busy staring to pay attention to the heat spreading through his own lower half. He couldn't stop looking at their profiles. The arch of their noses, the slope of their brows. The little curl of hair at the top of their foreheads. He'd been so certain of the differences between them before. On the battlefield, he would never mistake his team's Medic for the enemy. Surely it was more than the colour of their uniforms that differentiated them in his mind... wasn't there? His eyes were playing tricks on him in the low lighting, watching the shadows play on their features. Their thin lips and sharp teeth and wet, pink tongues. His own tongue darted out reflexively to run over his bottom lip. Lightly, his fingers brushed against the inseam of his thigh.

“ _Was ist das?”_ the BLU Medic said, abruptly pulling away, and Spy ducked quickly out of sight. He held his breath, frantically checking his cloak. It was full. They could not have spotted him.

That was when he looked at his invisible hand and realized that his cigarette was still burning.

The window over his head flew open, and then there were hands on him. Spy's cry of alarm was choked off by a sharp tug on the back of his collar, and his struggles proved in vain as two pairs of strong arms pulled him kicking and squirming through the window.

He fell roughly to the ground, only to be picked up again and slammed into the wall, biting his tongue in the process. A hand closed around his throat.

“ _You.”_

It was the BLU Medic that had spoken, and it was the BLU Medic holding him. The only member of the enemy team that they had been able to consistently and repeatedly kill that day. His tie was the only remaining marker of his team's colour. And he looked livid. Spy's eyes flicked back and forth as his own team's Medic stepped up as well, hastily stuffing his undershirt back into his trousers. His brows were pinched together, but he didn't look nearly as furious as his counterpart.

“ _Was Sie gesehen?”_ the enemy doctor hissed, fingertips digging into the sides of his throat. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” the RED Medic answered for him, as Spy gasped for air. The man was smirking, looking down. Spy realized suddenly that he was embarrassingly erect. His face flushed scarlet beneath his mask.

His knife was in his pocket. He could reach it easily and make his escape, but only from the BLU Medic. And how would the RED Medic respond to him wounding or killing his lover?

He looked between them, looking for any opening for a peaceful escape, but he kept getting distracted. They were standing side by side now, shoulder to shoulder in front of him, neither of them so much as a hair taller than the other. There was something wrong with his eyes. Or something wrong with their faces. They looked... no, they _couldn't_ look so much the same. The lack of oxygen was getting to him, it had to be. It had to be.

His teammate was looking at him intently. He placed a hand on the BLU Medic's shoulder, sharing a quick glance. Spy sucked in a shallow gulp of air as the pressure on his windpipe lessened slightly.

“Did you follow me here?” the RED Medic asked. Spy shook his head as much as he was able. He stared at his colleague's face, burning the features into his retinas. He blinked and opened his eyes to look at the BLU Medic, thinking that he would be able to see the subtle differences that eluded him, but –

 _Their eyes,_ he thought. _Mon Dieu, even their eyes are the same._

“You see it, don't you?” the RED Medic asked, and his BLU counterpart looked at him sharply. But his eyes – such a pale shade of blue, so light they were nearly grey, and exactly the same as the man beside him – were fixed on Spy. “Do you see? Let him breathe, _bitte.”_

The hand was removed from his throat entirely. Spy coughed and slumped, no longer having to hold himself on the balls of his feet. The BLU Medic regarded him warily.

Spy had barely regained his breath when his teammate stepped into him and pressed him back against the wall with his body. He gasped, still too hard for his own comfort in the situation, when the doctor put a hand on the side of his face and neck.

“Tell me you see it,” he said, the intensity of his gaze almost frightening. With his other hand he grabbed the other Medic's arm to drag him closer, crowding Spy. “Look at him and tell me what you see.”

“What are you-” the BLU started but was quickly shushed. Spy swallowed, unnerved by their proximity, confused by what he was seeing and yet he knew he _couldn't_ be seeing. He stared, as he had been staring for the past several minutes, still refusing to accept what he was looking at.

“Your f-faces,” he said, stopping to clear his throat. The BLU Medic's eyes widened. “You look the same.”

The RED's face split into a triumphant grin.

“We are the same,” he said, his fingers curling against the base of Spy's neck. “We are identical.”

“Twins?” Spy asked, recoiling, thinking of what he'd just seen them doing. Both men quickly shook their heads.

“We are not related,” the BLU Medic said, still looking unhappy that they were still even speaking to each other. “We had never met before coming to work here, and yet-”

“-we are the same,” the RED Medic finished enthusiastically. “Absolutely, completely identical, right down to our genetics. We tested.”

Spy stared, unable to do much else pinned as he was. This was ridiculous. He knew, of course, that people from vastly different backgrounds were capable of sharing facial features or even mannerisms but this- what they were telling him was-

“Could you not have been separated at birth?” he offered. The BLU Medic simply rolled his eyes, but his counterpart let out a bark of laughter and nudged him in the shoulder.

“Show him your leg.”

The BLU gave him an odd look.

“He doesn't need to see my leg.”

“He does if he's going to understand. For Gott's sake, show him your leg.”

Spy was allowed breathing room as both men stepped back, though the hand on his face moved only so far as the crook of his neck. He smoothed the front of his suit and pants, still embarrassed and still erect. Neither Medic seemed to be paying any attention to that anymore, fortunately. The BLU heaved a sigh and bent to remove his boot and roll up his left pant leg.

On his pale, hairy, surprisingly toned calf was a scar. It was clearly old, well-healed and faded white, but the wound that left it must have been savage and bloody.

“I was attacked by a dog when I was sixteen,” the man explained, twisting his ankle so that Spy could see the full extent of the damage. Spy blinked at him, not understanding what this had to do with anything. The RED Medic cleared his throat and bent double.

“So was I.”

His boots had already been removed, so when he pulled up the fabric of his pants Spy could clearly see, visible over the edge of his black socks, the white, shiny scar tissue that marred the pale skin of his calf.

Spy stared. He blinked, stared, then looked back at the other leg. The other, identical leg with the other, _identical_ scar.

“Impossible,” he said flatly, refusing to let the comparison register. This was a trick. Scars could be faked with enough skill and practice – not that they would have a need to fake scars, they couldn't have known that he would find them here.

The Medics exchanged another glance. Together, moving so in time that Spy shivered, they pulled up the hems of their shirts. Another set of scars, pale and precise, matched perfectly below the softly jutting bones of their hips.

“Appendectomy,” the RED Medic said calmly, tapping the scar with his index finger. “I was twenty-four.”

“As was I,” the BLU Medic said, tracing his own scar. Spy's head was reeling.

“This isn't- that-” It wasn't possible. Of course it wasn't possible. It was a coincidence, or they were lying, or he was dreaming. Something. There had to be something else to explain it.

“How?” he asked, embarrassed by the crack in his voice.

“Cloning,” the BLU Medic said with a shrug.

Spy blinked several times and shook his head.

“I'm sorry, did you say _cloning?”_

“Most likely,” RED answered, nodding.

“But that- that is-”

“Fascinating, _ja?”_ the BLU doctor said, smiling for the first time since Spy had arrived. The resemblance between the two men was absolutely undeniable. “Even as a theory, the prospect is incredible. For instance the technique of implanting memories-”

“-we have compared notes, examined every year of our childhoods in great detail, to find that everything is identical-”

“-as well as the belief that we are fully functioning, independent adults with no controlling forces-”

“-brings up questions about the malleability of the human mind-”

“-and the susceptibility of the brain to the absorption of information-”

“-not to mention the _physical_ ramifications of the science-”

“-unsure if we were raised from children-”

“-grown as fully formed adults-”

“-the amount of energy required, and the financial cost-”

“-for what purpose-”

“-bred to fulfill a role-”

“-the question of what will happen to us-”

“-no longer needed-”

“-were we ever really alive?”

The pair of them were speaking too quickly for Spy to understand, both of them grinning wide, gleaming grins, eyes shining in excitement as they crowded closer to him. He felt dizzy, staring into their faces and unable to find even a single different between them. All of this was too much. The idea of cloning, the ramifications of what it could mean for the rest of them, and the things that he had caught them doing-

“How long have you known?” he asked, cutting them both off. They looked at him with identical expressions of bemusement. “Or suspected all of this? How long have the two of you...”

He looked pointedly at their open trousers and obvious state of undress. They smiled slyly at one another.

“We first noticed the similarities in our appearances several weeks after our first initial encounter,” the BLU Medic explained, taking a half step back and straightening up. “We had seen each other from afar on the battlefield, of course, heard each other speaking, but it wasn't until we go into a scuffle ourselves that the resemblance became apparent.”

“After several such “scuffles,” and our subsequent emotional reactions to them,” the RED Medic continued, “we arranged to meet on peaceful terms. During battle, unfortunately. It was our only means of speaking to one another at the time. We were frequently interrupted and eventually sought alternate meeting places.”

“We have been speaking and conducting tests on one another for several months now.”

“The idea to compare anatomies arose, appropriately at first...”

“One thing led naturally to another...”

They grinned. Spy let his eyes wander in the brief seconds that there focus was off of him, following the lines of their bodies and the way the held themselves. Identical, right now to their posture. It must have been like looking into a mirror. Try as he might, he couldn't find himself disgusted with their actions and where they ended up, because he couldn't truly say that he wouldn't do the same in their positions. To have another body that looked and felt just like your own, reacted the same way you did, able to reach and explore all those inconvenient places with familiar hands that were and weren't your own. Months, they said. How much they must have learned.

“And you found it all to be the same?” he asked, trying to sound more aloof than he felt. He was curious now. Surely even with those cloning nonsense there had to be _some_ difference. Something had to be there to distinguish them from one another.

It was the RED Medic, his own teammate, who caught his eye first.

“Would you be interested in comparing notes?” the man asked, after a brief pause. His double raised his eyebrows – a difference in expression at last. Spy drew back further against the wall.

“I'm not sure what you mean, _Docteur._ ”

The smile that crept onto the Medic's face was one knew well. It was a small, insidious curl at the corner of his mouth reserved exclusively for talking people into submitting to invasive, usually unethical experiments. That same smile had had the Sniper going white as a sheet and fleeing the infirmary in a cold sweat... but it was having an entirely different affect on Spy.

Something like a promise was glimmering in the doctor's pale eyes. He was leaning in – they both were, now – to cut off the window from Spy's view. He had nowhere to go. He could press back into the wall only so far, or he could press forward. Either way he would trapped against a hard place, from the looks of things.

Whatever vigour the doctor's had lost during the discussion was coming back now, subtle outlines in their trousers as they boxed him in with their bodies. Spy swallowed despite himself and watched two pairs of eyes flick to the bobbing of his throat.

“ _Coy_ is not a look that suites you, _mein Freund”_ the RED doctor told him. “You know what we are offering.

“You are a man of the world, are you not, Herr Spy?” the BLU Medic said. There was a purr in his voice that made Spy want to shiver. “Would this not make for an experience?”

Fingertips ghosted across the top of his thigh. Spy made his choice, and leaned into the touch.

They closed in on him immediately, pressing in from both sides and leaving barely enough room to breathe. The gentle touch on his leg turned into insistent palming of the bulge in his trousers. His teammate snaked an arm around behind him, pulling their bodies flush together. Spy moaned aloud and ground into the hand at his groin, rolling his hips back against the hand on his ass. Lips found their way beneath the hem of his mask as the RED Medic kissed and sucked a trail up his throat. A hand was on his jaw, turning his face, and then another pair of lips was pressed against his own. Nimble fingers tugged at the buttons of his jacket and then his shirt as he opened his mouth to the kiss. There was a swelling hardness brushing against his thigh as the BLU doctor pressed against him. Spy gasped in a breath as a hand slipped up under his shirt, ghosting over his bare stomach before settling to grip his hip.

He didn't know what to do with his own hands. He had been in this position before, with another men and with women, sometimes both. Sometimes more. But never like this. Never with two identical bodies, two pairs of hands that felt the same, two mouths that left the same taste on his tongue. This was new, and electric.

Fingers slipped below his waistband. Spy's legs were shaking beneath him, trembling with the effort to stop from buckling. The hand on his hip trailed up to tweak a nipple, the pad of a callused thumb flicking over the hardened, sensitive little nub. Spy gasped and then moaned and then moaned louder as another hand was slipped down the back of his pants, gripping his ass cheek and pulling him tighter against the body holding him up. There were hands all over him. He settled for placing his own on the back of a neck and the crook of an elbow, to hold himself up as much as to urge them on.

All at once the hands left him, and then he was being undressed. One doctor made short work of his jacket and shirts while the other did the same with his trousers and shoes and socks, until he stood there in little more than his gloves and mask and the pair of simple briefs that were doing little to conceal his hard on. A hand cupped him again, through the fabric, and the other curled around his waist. The other set of hands remained absent, however. Spy heard the rustle of fabric and managed to open and focus his eyes.

One of the Medics was undressing himself as well, shoving his trousers down to his knees and kicking them off impatiently. Spy looked at him, expecting to see some sort of colour marker to indicate which team he was on. But there was nothing.

The other man had shed his team-related clothing as well. No tie, no jacket, not a stitch of anything to give his allegiance away. And somehow in the bliss and euphoria of being manhandled, Spy had forgotten which was which.

Was it the RED Medic – a man he knew well to consider him an acquaintance, if not a friend – standing to the left of him, returning to the fray to bring a hand to the back of his head and the inside of his thigh? Had they moved at all when his eyes were closed? Was the BLU Medic – an enemy, a feared combatant who took pleasure in tormenting him on the battlefield – the one grinding against his hip, pressing a broad, hot hand to the middle of his chest?

And then suddenly it didn't matter because there were a pair of firm hands on his shoulders, pushing him down and forcing his trembling legs to buckle beneath him.

Spy's knees hit the floor with a dull thud. He looked up, eyes widening as he beheld the two men standing over him. The one to his left was smirking and the other had their glasses slipping halfway down his nose, but other than they they were completely indistinguishable from one another. Identical in every regard.

Fingers traced the line of his jaw through his mask, and a rough thumb pushed its way past his lips. He lathed his tongue over the pad on reflex alone, dropping his eyes and focusing not only on their faces but the rest of them as well. The soft stomachs and tantalizing trails of hair that ran down them. The broad shoulders and strong arms, hard, solid muscles earned from decades of hard work and heavy lifting. Toned chests covered in dark hair, run through with silver and just long enough to start to curl. He forced his eyes to skip over the more interesting bits – noting with annoyance that even their underwear was the same; he was unsure if they were simply regulation brand or if they did in purpose – and continue their trek downward. What fantastic legs. Toned, muscular thighs built for carrying them around the battlefield, running to and fro to aid those in need and get themselves out of danger. Spy was reasonably sure the doctor – both of them, he supposed – was older than him, and likely the oldest of them all, and yet he was able to keep up with the fastest and youngest member of the team. No wonder, with calves like that.

He wanted to examine the scars in more detail now that he was down there. He wanted to compare them, make sure that they were _really_ identical and not just some clever make up. But his inspection was interrupted by the thumb in his mouth wedging itself between his back teeth, twisting to force his mouth open. His eyes flicked up to the twin faces above him and was rewarded with a small moan – from one or both of them, he couldn't tell.

Without waiting for any more prompting he placed his hands on the thighs of the Medic already touching him. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of the briefs and pulled them down, slowly, letting them drag against the sensitive flesh.

Spy leaned forward on his knees and pressed the flat of his tongue to the underside of the shaft, dragging up from the base of the elastic all the way to the tip. The Medic's moan got higher as it went on.

“You have done this before?” the doctor asked. His breath hitched on the last word as the point of Spy's tongue teased lightly beneath the head.

“You have to ask?” Spy replied. He pulled the briefs the rest of the way down, waiting for the man to step out of them before going right back to the task he'd started; the Medic swore when Spy took him into his mouth as far as he could without gagging and sucked hard as he pulled off.

It had been some time since he'd been with another man, but not so long that he would consider himself out of practice. A cock was a cock. It was simply a matter of discovering what the person attached to it liked most.

Spy let the point of his tongue quest beneath the foreskin. The Medic's fingers dug hard into his shoulder, so he did it again. When he took him fully into his mouth again and moaned, the doctor let out a hiss of curses that Spy took as encouragement.

He felt something nudge his cheek and turned, opening his eyes to a second length hovering less than an inch from his face.

There they both were, thick and uncircumcised. Identical. Right down the veins and the wiry, well-groomed patch of hair nestled at the base of each. Spy wondered if they even tasted the same. Then he decided to test it.

“Good of you to join the fun, _Docteur,”_ he purred, before closing his lips around the head of the second cock. The Medic gasped.

They _did_ taste the same.

He did his best to give them equal attention but learned quiet quickly that neither of them was going to give him free reign in this situation. A hand came to rest on the back of his head, fingers grabbing none too lightly at his mask and the hair beneath it and pulling him off, diverting his attention to the other man.

He used his hands as well, as much as they would allow him to. Using firm, skillful strokes on one to make up for when his mouth was occupied with the other. They crowded him, each murmuring endearments and admonishments and the occasional “ _ach, Gott, ja.”_ They took turns with him. Using his mouth, using him on each other, one doctor guiding him away from himself to go to work on the other one. Spy caught his breath when he could, but his heart was hammering in his chest so loudly it was a miracle they hadn't heard it and asked to vivisect him yet.

The Medic standing to his right was the more insistent of the two, Spy decided, when he felt his hair being tugged again, his head pulled back so that his face was tilting up. He looked up at the man through half-lidded eyes, trying to decide which team he thought he belonged to. Not that it mattered now.

The hand left his hair and a thumb wedge itself between his teeth once more. Spy opened his mouth as wide as he could and stuck out his tongue, earning a soft murmur of affirmation as the doctor took himself in hand. The Medic thrust against his tongue, the saliva-slicked underside of his shaft dragging over Spy's cheek and mask. He moaned when the hand returned to the back of his head, guiding him lower.

He did as he was wordlessly bid, licking and sucking carefully at the man's sac, rolling them around his mouth, pulling off with sharp little pops before moving back in. He earned a gasp and a sharp yank of his hair when he let his tongue flick out and explore the soft, dusky flesh further back, and then he was back to gagging as the cock was stuffed roughly back into his mouth to graze the back of his throat.

Spy made a noise of surprise when he felt a hand grab his hip, having lost track of where the second Medic was, but the hand in his hair prevented him from turning to look. All he could was feel the hands on him, pulling his briefs down to expose his bare ass and guiding him into doing what they wanted. A squeeze of his hip had him shifting, and a sudden, sharp smack to his ass made him buck forward, gagging himself. The hand in his hair held him down long enough for his eyes to start watering, before allowing him to pull back and breathe.

The first cold press of a slick finger entering him made Spy yelp. He tried to turn again, only to hiss in pain as his ear was grabbed and cruelly twisted through his mask.

“You look at me,” the doctor above him ordered, staring down at him with cock in hand, a single brow arched expectantly. Spy could see his eyes gleaming behind his glasses, boring down on him. He knew those eyes. Didn't he?

 _But who are you?_ he thought, and dutifully opened his mouth again.

Spy's own erection had been woefully ignored since this began and every ingress of the finger inside him had him jolting with pleasure. The doctor was not patient, stretching him open with one hand and pulling him up onto all fours with the other. Spy did his best to keep his eyes up as he'd been told while still maintaining his balance.

The doctor standing over him shared a glance with the man behind him, and Spy braced himself just as something much larger, harder, and hotter than a finger began to press into him. He choked out a moan, only for it to be cut off as he was rammed from behind, forcing the cock in his mouth deeper into his throat. He coughed and tried to pull off, but was stopped by a hand curling around the back of his neck. Spy looked up as much as he was able and found the doctor smiling.

The Medics worked in tandem, setting a punishing pace as they fucked his throat and ass. Each thrust from one of them pushed him harder onto the other one. The rhythm left little room for compromise.

Spy hadn't been so full in ages. So wonderfully, completely filled in every way, totally at the mercy of others to do with him as they wished. He relaxed his throat and learned to stop fighting for air, taking whatever short gasps he could get around the thick shaft dragging over his tongue, making the Medic moan every time he choked on a breath. Behind him, all Spy could hear was the slap of hips against his ass and the back of his thighs, the occasional grunt of exertion or mumbled curse. He's knees ached. His arms trembled under his own weight. His jaw hurt, and his neck was starting to ache.

And yet, on his knees and being pounded into from both ends, there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be in the world.

The Medic fucking him was murmuring something, but Spy was much too far gone to decipher even what language it was, much less what was being said. He didn't know if it was for his own benefit or for the other man using him. But he felt the hands smoothing over his flank, across his ribs and up his spine, down his hips, his thighs, his ass. The gentle touches gave him gooseflesh. Made him shake even more than he was, contrasted by the rough, powerful thrusts, that never gave up an inch even as Spy struggled to remain upright. The hands settled once more on his hips, holding him still as the Medic fucked into him with redoubled effort. Spy's elbows folded beneath him.

“Get his arms,” snapped the Medic above him, and Spy immediately felt his wrists grabbed by strong hands and yanked straight back behind him, forcing him to kneel upright. Fingers closed on his jaw to tilt his face up again. He stared with unfocused eyes at the man in front of him, at the thick member that took up most of his vision. His mouth opened automatically, sticking his tongue out past his bottom lip as he panted and gasped. The doctor's other hand came to rest on the side of his face, briefly, a thumb stroking his cheek approvingly. And then it was back to his cock with slow, languid strokes, nodding some unspoken communique to the other doctor.

Spy cried out as a hand closed around the neglected length between his legs, overwhelming him with the sudden stimulation. Arms straining and restrained behind him, back arched painfully, his orgasm overtook him with a shout, whiting out his vision. The Medic let out a high cry of his own, pulling Spy back against his chest as he filled him with his release.

The Medic gripping his jaw squeezed tight enough to leave bruises and shook him slightly, holding his mouth open while his hand flew furiously over his own cock. The doctor swore as he came, splashing over Spy's waiting tongue, but also onto his nose and cheek, slowing to squeeze out every last drop onto his face. The mask would be ruined. He'd have to sneak back into the base and hide it. A shameful secret to keep him lonely nights.

Spy slumped as soon as he was let go of.

He rested his forehead against the Medic's hip, breathing hard. His arms fell limply to his sides. He jolted at the sudden emptiness he felt when the other Medic slipped out of him, and then at the lingering slickness dribbling out of his ass.

The Spy was exhausted. He felt used. He felt wrecked and ruined and sore in the most perfect of ways. It had been far, far too long since he'd had something like this.

“ _Merci,”_ he murmured without thinking, into the musky groove of the Medic's hip. When his head was yanked back by the hair without warning he was afraid he'd gone and ruined it all somehow.

The tongue in his mouth surprised him. The standing Medic had bent double, pulling Spy up to reach him easier, kissing him hungrily and tasting himself on the Frenchman's lips. It was the hunger that surprised Spy. He had barely managed to catch his breath, and now it was stolen from him all over again.

As suddenly as it began, the kiss ended. Spy fell back again, unsupported, and was caught by the man behind him. Again his jaw was grabbed, though much more lightly than before, and his face was turned toward another kiss from the second Medic. The doctor hummed appreciatively into his mouth. Spy couldn't tell the difference between the taste of them.

And just like that he remembered what this was and who he was with, and why this had happened in the first place.

 _They are the same,_ his mind said, even as he opened his eyes to check for himself. One set of pale eyes regarded him from over his shoulder and another set looked down on him from above. Matching. Identical. Without difference or way of discernment, looking at him with twin expressions of satisfaction. But who was who? Which of these men would be following him back into the RED base, fighting along side him in the next day's battle, and which would be on the opposite side of the field?

He wanted to ask. But what sort of a lousy Spy couldn't tell two men apart?

“Well,” said the Medic behind him, leaning back to slump on the floor, “that wasn't exactly what we had planned for the night.”

Spy snorted.

“So sorry to have interrupted you,” he said drily, and both Medics chuckled. The sound had an eerie, layered effect, like something out of one of Scout's ridiculous monster movies. The standing Medic bent down and grabbed an undershirt, using it to clean himself off with.

“Nonsense. You were a very welcome interruption.” He tossed the shirt over Spy's head, back to his double. “We had never even considered bringing in a third party this little, _aha,_ experiment of ours, had we?”

“ _Nein,”_ said the doctor behind him. “I'm afraid the risk of discovery was simply too great.”

“It still is.”

Spy took a moment to register what he'd said. He was too busy thinking about how badly he needed a shower. He frowned and looked up.

“What is that supposed to m-”

He lost his balance as he was yanked backward, falling hard against the other man's chest. Something white flashed in his peripheral vision.

Spy's eyes widened as the rag was pressed against his face and covered his mouth and nose. The scent of the chemical burned his airways, sickeningly familiar, but it was already too late to struggle. He did anyway. He kicked and fought and screamed, trying ineffectively to writhe out of the grasp of the man holding him. The strength left his limbs. Spy's eyes rolled toward the back of his head, into the darkness of his skull, and then there was only blackness awaiting him.

He woke in his bed, fully dressed, to sound of Soldier's wake-up call in the hallway. Sunlight filtered through the gap in the dark curtains.

His mask still had come stains on it.

 


End file.
